good instincts
by Kuroshi44
Summary: Francis wonders on the enigma that is her nephews butler. T to be safe. Drabble


Francis the Marchioness of Midford had good instincts, especially when it came to judging character. Her ability to read people had served her well in the battle field, both when wearing amour and when wearing a skirt. Her first impression was nearly always proved right within a very short amount of time; there was only one exception to this rule.

Sebastian Michaelis, her nephew's butler.

When she first met the man in black she had had to fight the urge to draw her sword and run him through that very second. No matter how many years of faithful service passed she could not dismiss that first feeling. She hated it when her darling children visited that manor by themselves, and when she went with them all she wanted to do was get them as far away from that _thing_ as soon as possible.

Her instincts had served her well when reading an opponent in fencing, and even better when navigating the murky waters of politics where false smiles where just as deadly as hidden daggers. That butler triggered the most pronounced reaction she'd ever had and yet seemed to be the one time she would be proven wrong.

Three years of faithful work and beyond measure loyalty and she could never quite trust appearances. Moments of apparently unguarded warmth and care for the small child he called 'master' for some reason felt false. Not once in three years had she let her guard down around him, and she let him know it.

'Lecherous,' an excellent word for the continued impression he gave her, but nowhere near strong enough.

Whenever he looked at her with those ruby eyes she felt as if he was seeing and judging her naked flesh as others would a meal to be devoured. That voice smooth as velvet felt like slimy hands dragging their way down her body. His carefully planned actions as if he was winding sticky spider webs around her to form a net from which she would never escape, a net that clung wetly to her face to obscure her vision. That perfectly sculpted face looked like an invitation to an occasion that would rip her to pieces, body and soul.

'Lecherous' was the only way to describe him.

Every instinct screamed danger and un-trust worthy, every moment with him felt like another step towards some hidden trap.

She had mentioned it to Ciel once, in passing. She had asked him why he would hire someone like that, why he never talked about where that butler had come from. He had laughed and walked away.

The Marchioness of Midford had never doubted her instincts before, but she was beginning to. How could everything about this model servant so fiercely scream 'wrong' when he had never stepped so much as a toe out of line in three years of service?

She watched him now, standing behind the little earl and her daughter and her blood ran cold. An instant, just for an instant, she saw something in his eyes she wished she hadn't. As he had glanced at her fragile nephew she had seen hunger, the proper hunger of a starving man looking at a three course meal.

For all the impressions he gave her his expression had never actually changed from polite interest. To see his face actually reflecting her worst nightmares was something she couldn't stand. She didn't realise she _was standing_ with the chair tipped over until she saw the stares of the other three people present. Sebastian was back to his usual polite self and she was left wondering if she had imagined it.

He made her doubt herself. The only other person to make her feel so insecure was her older brother. They were similar in eerie ways, but even her brother had never made her feel so afraid of something so intangible.

Sebastian, the same name as her nephew's pet dog. Coincidence, or something more sinister? He made her question everything, and no one was volunteering any answers, least of all her nephew.

Francis had good instincts; they had proved true on every occasion with one exception. One exception so strange it caused her to doubt nearly everything she believe. There was only one thing she was certain of.

The day she stopped suspected the man in black would be the day she ended.


End file.
